


Let Go

by CSHfic, VSfic



Series: No One Knows Us (Pro-Bending AU) [3]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Bending (Avatar), Alternate Universe - Sports, Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Massage, Porn with Feelings, Pro-Bending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-11 10:08:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28349658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CSHfic/pseuds/CSHfic, https://archiveofourown.org/users/VSfic/pseuds/VSfic
Summary: Sokka has a bad day. Zuko makes it better.
Relationships: Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Series: No One Knows Us (Pro-Bending AU) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1983337
Comments: 56
Kudos: 558





	Let Go

**Author's Note:**

> This one's pretty short and sweet :) 
> 
> The next one in this series will probably be a multichapter one, so if you're interested in that be sure to subscribe to the series!

Sokka’s grumpy when he finally shoulders his way into his apartment. He tosses his jacket onto the coffee table. His back twinges painfully at the mere thought of bending down to untie his shoes, so he just toes them off and kicks them against the wall. His gym bag follows suit, because Sokka really can’t bring himself to care right now.

He knows that he’s being a little dramatic. Tonight’s game wasn’t that bad, at least, not for the Badgermoles as a whole. They’d won with a full team knockout, three-to-one, and their team had managed to secure themselves a spot in the playoffs.

And it was absolutely _no thanks_ to Sokka. He’d been targeted down from the start, played terribly the entire night, and then been un-ringed for his horrible lack of effort. Thankfully Toph and Zuko had been there to pick up his slack. They’ve somehow managed to carve a place for themselves despite Sokka dragging them down, surprising basically everyone who’d doubted them after Aang’s hiatus was announced.

Between their post-game press conference (terrible) and their postmortem with Suki (so much worse), it’s dark by the time they make it back to Sokka’s apartment.

Zuko just huffs and bends down to straighten his shoes for him, then slides his gym bag up against the couch so it’s out of the way. Zuko’s technically supposed to be staying in the free bedroom above Iroh’s tea shop—the first and maybe only place Zuko didn’t immediately balk at—but you wouldn’t know it from how easily he makes himself at home. 

Zuko hasn’t stayed at his Uncle’s place once in over a week. Neither of them is acknowledging it, and Sokka _definitely_ isn’t reading into it too much, even though he thinks maybe that’s significant, and maybe they should talk about it—

But not tonight, obviously, when all Sokka wants to do is mope.

It’s too late for Zuko to go back to his own apartment now, anyway. The trains stopped running over an hour ago, and it’s a long way to the Lower Ring. He could always take a taxi, but he won’t, because he’d already told Sokka he was going to spend the night. That just makes Sokka feel like even more of a jerk, because he’s in a bad mood, annoyed with himself and frustrated from the game. Zuko probably doesn’t want to stay when Sokka is just going to be terrible company, but he’s already said that he would.

“Hungry?” Zuko asks. 

“Not really,” Sokka says, hovering indecisively in the middle of the living room. Normally he’s starving after a match, but he’s not sure he could stomach it right now, tired as he is, and the thought of eating the leftovers from their last date at Inoka's restaurant makes him feel a little bit like a traitor, after how poorly he'd played tonight. He pulls his phone out of his pocket, absently, and cringes at the number of notifications. 

That the Sparrowkeet’s waterbender had managed to un-ring him before the second half was bad enough. That they’d managed to hit him just right to knock the wind out of him, was just… typical, and of course he’d landed wrong when he’d hit the water, and now his shoulder is complaining with every little movement, and his back hates him, and...

And, to add insult to injury, his Twitter mentions are an absolute nightmare shitshow. Sokka scowls as he scrolls through them. Most of them are telling him to quit, which is not that unusual, but it feels particularly barbed today. A lot of them are suggesting bringing Aang back in his place, and letting the Blue Spirit stay on, which is… great. 

“Do you want to turn in early?” Zuko asks.

Sokka hums noncommittally. He’s been tagged in a couple paparazzi shots of Aang and Katara together, too, suggesting that the Badgermoles should just replace him with his sister, since an actual waterbender could clearly do a better job. 

It’s taken Sokka a long time to get past his jealousy of Katara’s waterbending, to get to the point where he isn’t at least a little resentful that she seems so naturally talented at everything she does while Sokka has always just been… normal. 

He stares at the picture for a moment, thumb hovering over the replies.

...Yeah, that one hits a little too close to home. 

(Enjoy your block, low-effort hate account.)

He navigates back to the team’s account and clicks into their post from today, which is getting ratioed to hell and back. 

Zuko just sighs. “Are you going to stand in the middle of the room and mope all night?” he asks. 

“Maybe,” Sokka says, a little grumpily, “Maybe I’ll just lie down, right here on the floor. Mix it up.”

That makes Zuko laugh, at least.

“It’s one game, Sokka. It happens,” Zuko says. 

“Yeah, well, not according to @ZhaoIsCool420,” Sokka says pointedly. This guy tags Sokka with his garbage opinions after every game, and Sokka’s never blocked him because he always found them kind of funny. He’s never had so many people actually agree with the guy, though, and Sokka is kind of regretting that decision after reading today’s hot takes. 

“And @LetMomoProbend says—” 

“Okay, that’s it,” Zuko says. “Give me your phone.”

“Just a minute,” Sokka says, “I’m just—”

Zuko pries the phone out of his hand, and Sokka squawks in outrage. He tries to snatch it back but—ow, Zuko is tall, and Sokka’s sore shoulders protest loudly when he tries to reach above his head. Zuko reaches over both of them, and sets the phone pointedly on top of the bookcase. Sokka glares at it, and then pettily leans away when Zuko tries to put his chin on his shoulder. 

“You’re doom scrolling,” Zuko says, sounding not even a little sorry for the theft. 

“I wasn’t doom scrolling, I was—that was normal scrolling. Perfectly healthy,” Sokka cuts off abruptly as Zuko leans in to press a light kiss under his ear, “healthy scrolling,” Sokka finishes. 

“Mhm,” Zuko agrees, sounding about zero percent convinced.

Zuko slides his arms up around Sokka’s waist, hugging him from behind, and pulls him in. Sokka makes a soft sound. It’s not quite a _pained_ sound, necessarily, but it’s enough to make Zuko pause anyway. 

“Still sore?” Zuko asks. 

Sokka huffs. 

A hot shower at the gym had helped some. Not that much, really, considering Sokka is still wound as tight as a spring, but he’s not sure what else he can do about that. 

Zuko’s hands glide up his back, feather-light. He spreads his palms flat against Sokka’s shoulder blades, then leans in to press a kiss against his spine. It feels nice, being touched like this. It’s also very hard to keep up his grumpy moping, which is probably Zuko’s goal. He fights off a smile as Zuko tips his forehead against the back of Sokka’s neck. For a moment his hands slide down over Sokka’s chest, down his stomach, where the soreness just gives away to tension from carrying himself stiffly home.

“Go lie down. On your stomach,” Zuko murmurs. “I’ll give you a massage.”

...Sokka may be sore, and grumpy, but he’d have to be _dead_ to not be interested in that. 

“If you want,” Zuko says, a little more unsure, because he’s _Zuko_ , and Sokka suspects he might be physically incapable of being smooth. It punches a delighted laugh out of him, and Zuko smiles, a little hesitant, like he doesn’t get the joke.

“Zuko,” Sokka says, very seriously. He turns in Zuko’s arms and rests his hands on his waist. “If I ever, _ever_ say no to a sexy massage, I need you to take me to the hospital. Right away.”

“Who said anything about a _sexy_ massage?” Zuko asks innocently, but the pleased little crinkle at the corner of his eye is telling enough. 

Zuko goes to the bathroom, and Sokka goes to lay down. His bed is made up, evidence of Zuko spending the night. His bed has been made up every morning this week, actually, even though Sokka has never _ever_ made his own bed, because he never remembers, and it’s a stupid waste of time when he’s just going to mess it up again. 

Sokka’s pretty sure that Zuko is pretending not to notice that he’s been _just spending the night_ every night this week. Or maybe he just doesn’t think it’s that big of a deal to have a toothbrush and a drawer and a habit of making his boyfriend’s bed for him every single morning. Sokka is being very cool and normal about it, even though Zuko made such a big deal about the whole apartment hunting thing, and about eventually settling on staying in his uncle’s spare bedroom, only to spend more time at Sokka’s apartment than his own place, anyway. 

Sokka strips to his underwear, because he knows where he wants this to go, and then flops down on his side of the mattress. The air leaves him in a _whuff_ , landing a little less gracefully that he might have if his muscles weren’t complaining with every awkward stretch. The bedding is soft and admittedly very comfortable, when it’s not all bunched up underneath him. He turns his cheek against it while he listens to the sound of Zuko rummaging around in the other room. His hand is already itching for his phone, enough that he’s almost tempted to go fetch it, or steal Zuko’s.

(He wants to see where this goes a lot more than he wants to scroll through his mentions, though, and the last thing he wants to do is distract Zuko from whatever he has in mind…)

The bed dips as Zuko leans over on one knee. Sokka cracks an eye at him.

“Too many clothes,” Sokka says, accusatory. Zuko rolls his eyes. 

“Why are you like this?” he asks, but he throws his shirt over toward the laundry before leaning over Sokka to set a little bottle of oil down on the bedside table with a soft _click_. 

Sokka raises an eyebrow. 

“Where’d you get that?” he asks. Zuko blushes a little, and Sokka can’t help the delighted grin that spreads across his face. “You’ve been planning this!”

“Well, not _planning_ , but,” Zuko trails off. He fiddles with the cap of the oil. It smells faintly floral, not too sweet. Zuko tips a little onto his hands, rubbing them together to warm them. “I guess… I thought of it a while ago, after that game with the Walrus Whales? Their earthbender hit you pretty hard, and I just thought for next time… I wanted to be prepared?”

 _Oh_. That’s… really thoughtful, actually. That was also days ago. Sokka hadn’t even mentioned being sore, it hadn’t been _too_ bad, but apparently Zuko had been paying enough attention to him to notice. Sokka clears his throat. 

“Okay, well,” Sokka says. He scoots over to the center of the bed, “Yeah. Go ahead.”

Zuko swings a leg over Sokka’s thighs and settles his weight back, pinning him above the knees.

“This okay?” he asks. Sokka hums in agreement as Zuko traces his fingers up and down Sokka’s back, mapping the contours of his muscles. He presses lightly, testing Sokka’s reaction. His appreciative noises turn into a pained whine when Zuko reaches the top of his left shoulder. He knows he’d wrenched it when he hit the water—not bad enough to be serious, but definitely enough to make him grumpy, and to hurt his ego, and—

Zuko exhales slowly. The heat from his breath washes over the back of Sokka’s neck. He shivers, and Zuko’s hands warm by degrees. It feels incredible, the heat flowing through his fingertips, sinking into Sokka’s skin. 

Sokka makes a quiet sound, halfway between a moan and choked surprise. Zuko’s fingers move upward, then, trailing along his spine. He stops at his neck, warm hands holding Sokka steady. 

“Just relax,” Zuko says. 

“I am relaxed,” Sokka chokes out. “I’ve never been more relaxed.”

Zuko digs his thumb into his shoulder, just shy of too hard, and Sokka lets out a shaky breath. 

“Ha-aaah, be nice to me,” Sokka says. 

Zuko chuckles, a low rumble in his chest. He leans forward and nips lightly at Sokka’s jaw. “I’m always nice to you,” he says. 

Sokka shivers. Zuko’s hair tickles the side of his neck as he leans back again. His hands are rough with calluses from gripping his swords, but they glide smoothly over Sokka’s skin. Zuko huffs quietly as his thumbs work the muscles of Sokka shoulders, firebender heat easing the ache.

Sokka’s eyes flutter closed for just a moment. It’s strangely relaxing, having Zuko’s weight pressing him down into the mattress. He flattens his palms against Sokka’s upper back, fanning out in long, broad strokes. 

“Hey,” Sokka says into the quiet. “Sorry about—everything. I don’t know what was wrong with me today.” 

Zuko hums, disapproving, but his fingers are almost too gentle where he’s kneading the muscle on Sokka’s shoulder. He almost wishes he would be meaner, or at least—fuck, he doesn’t know. Today sucked, and he’s not sure he’s ready for it to stop being sucky. Or, not sure he deserves—

“Stop apologizing,” Zuko says. “No one’s mad at you.” 

“Suki’s definitely mad,” Sokka says. 

Zuko huffs. “She’s not.” 

“Well, she’s not happy,” he says. She’d been annoyed, maybe not only at Sokka, but annoyed, and…

“Maybe you _should_ get Katara on the team,” Sokka mumbles, mostly into the pillow. “Katara wouldn’t have—”

“I don’t want Katara,” Zuko says. “I want you.” 

“You haven’t even _met_ her,” Sokka says pettily. Zuko snorts. It's stupidly cute. Sokka tries to ignore it, because he’s not done feeling sorry for himself. “If Katara had been playing, we would have won, easy.”

“We _did_ win, Sokka,” Zuko says, exasperated. Not annoyed though, mostly just fond. It makes him want to smile, except he’s _moping_ , so he _doesn’t_ smile—

Zuko leans over him, one warm hand on Sokka’s shoulder, and taps the side of his head until he grudgingly turns to look. Zuko kisses him with unexpected heat, lips parted and open. Sokka swallows down his surprise and leans into him, eager for more but too pinned down to take it, with Zuko’s weight on his hips and his hand on his shoulder. Zuko hums against Sokka’s lips, the faintest hint of smoke on his tongue, and the sound makes something warm and vulnerable prickle through him, leaving him flushed and breathless.

“Those people don’t know how hard you work. They don’t know half our strategies are yours, not just Suki’s,” Zuko says. “Stop listening to idiots that don’t know what they’re talking about. Okay?”

Sokka hesitates, and nods a little. He feels weirdly exposed, and Zuko is looking at him with way too earnest an expression for the kind of day Sokka is having. He presses his face back into the pillow for a second, and then wiggles his hips, as best as he can with Zuko on top of him, trying to nudge him back to safer, sexier ground.

Zuko leans back, looking satisfied. His fingers trail over Sokka’s sides, and then dig in again. Sokka whines a little, when Zuko finds a particularly sensitive spot, thumbs pressing heat into the muscle. He chokes back a softer sound, a _more embarrassing_ sound, when Zuko leans in to kiss that same spot, after.

“Feeling good?” Zuko asks. He’s leaning in close, so that his breath feathers against Sokka’s skin. Sokka hums, half to himself, and then forces himself to look up. He blinks at Zuko, eyes half-lidded. Zuko’s smiling at him, soft and fond, and Sokka can’t help but smile back. 

But then the heat of Zuko’s hand ghosts downward, away from his shoulders toward his lower back. Sokka makes a low sound, a little hopeful, but Zuko stops short, hands resting lightly above Sokka’s waistband. 

Sokka tries to roll his hips, but Zuko just tightens the pressure of his knees against Sokka’s thighs to hold him still. 

“ _Relax_ ,” Zuko says, torn between exasperated and amused. 

Sokka squirms impatiently. Between the heat of his hands on Sokka’s back, and his weight settled heavily over Sokka’s thighs, it’s hard to keep his mind from wandering. 

“Zuko,” he says. “Please. Can you…?”

“I’ve barely started,” Zuko says. He sounds faintly amused, the pressure of his thumbs working back up from Sokka’s lower back again. Sokka breathes harshly, open-mouthed, as Zuko’s fingers dig into his flank. It feels so good, but it’s not even close to enough. Sokka can feel himself getting hard, just from the way Zuko’s touching him, the pressure and the heat and the promise of more.

“Please,” Sokka whispers. “Please, Zuko, you’re killing me, come on.”

“You’re insufferable,” Zuko says. “Can’t I just do nice things for you?”

“ _Please_ do nice things to me,” Sokka says. 

“For you,” Zuko corrects him. 

“That’s… that’s what I said,” Sokka says. 

Zuko snorts and shakes his head. It’s cute, and Sokka grins at him over his shoulder. Zuko purses his lips, pretending to be annoyed, and then sighs and rolls his eyes, because he isn’t really. Sokka’s pretty sure he’s never once managed to fool him with that annoyed act, in all the time that he’s known him. 

Anyway, he might be a little more convincing, if Sokka couldn’t feel Zuko’s growing interest pressed against his thigh every time Zuko shifts his weight. Sokka lifts his hips a little, trying to press back against him. Zuko just smirks at him and leans up on his knees slightly, out of reach. 

Zuko pauses to wipe his hands on the sheets. He slides one hand under Sokka’s cheek, tilting his head back. The angle is a little awkward with Zuko on top of him, but then Zuko’s mouth is on his, and any teasing or complaints vanish. Zuko’s lips are soft, and warm. The kiss is surprisingly hungry, considering how gently teasing he’s being, which Sokka is _not_ complaining about. Sokka’s chest shudders a little when Zuko finally pulls back, forehead still tipped against Sokka’s temple, just breathing him in. 

“You’re gorgeous like this,” Zuko whispers. “You know that?”

Sokka flushes. Then he laughs at himself. He teases Zuko _all the time_ , and this is mild compared to that, but… the look on Zuko’s face is so openly soft, and… Sokka really doesn’t know what to do with that, besides what he always does, joke and deflect.

“Yeah? You going to do something about it?” Sokka asks. He wiggles his hips a little, for emphasis. Zuko just smiles, eyes soft like he’s not fooled, but he lets Sokka get away with it, anway. Zuko finally leans over him to pull the bedside table drawer open, and Sokka moans in relief.

“Ugh, spirits, finally,” Sokka says, half muffled by the pillow. Zuko presses a light kiss to the top of Sokka’s head on the way back. He doesn’t even let him help as he strips them both, one hand easing Sokka back down when he tries to move. 

“Relax,” Zuko says. He grins against Sokka’s shoulder, trailing open-mouthed kisses up the side of his neck as he presses one finger in. His hands are—so warm. Sokka had relaxed some under Zuko’s hands, but he’s still sore, and tense. Sokka huffs, and then exhales shakily, trying to relax into it. Zuko just shushes him softly, gentle as anything. It makes Sokka flush, because—whatever, feelings, it’s fine. 

Zuko takes his time working him open. It’s a worse torture than the waiting, just enough to be good, to make heat pool in his stomach and prickle over his skin, but not enough to really satisfy him. Sokka moans, sliding his legs further apart, trying to encourage Zuko to take more. He doesn’t, just continues fucking him with two thin fingers. Zuko’s breath hitches delightedly at the sounds Sokka makes.

“Okay, okay, that’s good enough,” Sokka breathes. Hah, if Zuko doesn’t hurry up, Sokka might just die. Or maybe he’ll just come from this, and then they’ll _both_ be disappointed—

“Is that what we’re going for now?” Zuko asks. “Good enough?”

His tone is teasing, but he punctuates the question with an absolutely merciless twist of his fingers. Sokka grips the sheets in both hands, tries and fails to bite back the broken sound it drags out of him. 

“Hah, please,” Sokka says. “Please, sweetheart, give it to me, I’m—ready, I can take it.”

“Hm. You rushing me is not going to make me fuck you any faster,” Zuko says. He’s trying to sound cool and teasing and unaffected, but his breath hitches just slightly, when Sokka tries to press back on his fingers and ends up grinding back against him instead. 

Sokka makes another needy noise, but Zuko just shifts further up onto his knees, for a better angle, and so Sokka can’t reach him to do it again. He adds a third finger, deliciously slow, and smirks at the way Sokka moans before adding, “So you might as well take it easy.”

“How am I supposed to take it easy when you’re—nng,” Sokka tries, as Zuko crooks his fingers and makes him see stars, “When you’re _driving me crazy_?”

He rocks back against Zuko’s hand with as much leverage as he can manage, with Zuko’s other hand on his hip, holding him down. Zuko just chuckles and keeps the same excruciatingly slow pace, until Sokka is a desperate, shaky mess underneath him. 

Finally, finally, Zuko leans in and presses a kiss to the side of Sokka’s mouth. 

“Ready?” Zuko asks lightly.

“ _Zuko_ ,” Sokka whines. “I’m ready, I’ve _been_ ready, shit—”

Zuko just huffs another laugh and pulls his hand back. He swallows the sound Sokka makes at the loss. Zuko leans up on his knees for a moment, rolling a condom on, wiping his hand on the sheet. That first press is infuriatingly gentle, like Sokka’s some fragile thing, and Sokka swears to Tui and La and Agni and whoever will listen he will _kill him if he doesn’t move faster_ —

Zuko just threads his fingers through Sokka’s to hold his hands still, feathering light kisses against Sokka’s cheek as he presses in. 

“Come on,” Sokka says desperately. 

“Calm down,” Zuko chides him, completely unhurried. “Just let me take care of you tonight.”

Zuko moves at an excruciatingly slow pace. Sokka tries to roll his hips, encouraging him to go faster, but Zuko just tightens his knees around his thighs and slows down even more. Sokka presses his forehead into the pillow and groans in frustration, tugging against Zuko’s grip on his hands. 

“Please, baby, come on,” Sokka says, tilting his head to the side to look over his shoulder. The heat of Zuko’s breath feathers against the shell of Sokka’s ear.

He can only kind of see Zuko like this, out of the corner of his eye with his cheek pressed against his pillow. Sokka screws his eyes shut and just focuses on the feeling of Zuko rocking into him. Sokka murmurs breathless praise. Zuko’s fingers tighten marginally at Sokka’s words—he’s probably turning bright red, because all it takes are a few sweet words and Zuko blushes easier than anyone Sokka’s ever met.

“Faster, please, you’re so good for me, baby, please go faster,” he says. Zuko whines at the praise, hips snapping forward with more force. Sokka gasps, “Yes, just like that, so good, keep going, you’re amazing, please.”

Zuko’s palms are heating against the back of Sokka’s hands. He makes a wounded little sound and tries to pull away, but Sokka only grips his fingers tighter. 

“You’re so hot, baby, _literally_ , I—” Sokka chokes on the words, back arching, and Zuko’s hips stutter, “Don’t let go, I wanna feel it, please, let me…”

“ _Fuck_ , Sokka,” Zuko says, breath hot against Sokka’s neck. “Okay, okay. I’ve got you.”

He usually can’t come like this, but Sokka already feels fucked out and desperate from Zuko’s fingers, like he’s moments from flying apart, and Zuko feels so good that he can hardly catch his breath around the broken sounds he drags out of him. Zuko leans in and catches his mouth, swallowing the breathy moan on his lips. The kiss is a little awkward, the angle’s bad, and it’s so earnest, so obvious Zuko is desperately, stubbornly hanging on himself, that it makes something hot and tight clench in Sokka’s chest. He feels completely surrounded, his entire body buzzing everywhere Zuko touches him, warm hands and soft lips. 

He’s seeing stars with every thrust, it’s so good, little sparks of pleasure singing up his spine. Zuko is getting close too, and it only makes it better, a little harder, a little more unsteady. Zuko leans down to kiss him again. His mouth is so hot that it stings and that, embarrassingly, is all it takes. Sokka thinks, _fuck, that’s hot_ , and then he doesn’t think anything at all—the whole world narrows down to a single point, the heat pressing through him, pressing into him.

It’s the second fall he’s taken today, and a much, much better one. Sokka has to force himself to blink his eyes open, remember how to breathe, and by the time he thinks to make sure that Zuko comes too, it’s clear he already has. 

Sokka smiles a little, something tightening dangerously in his chest, when Zuko brushes his sweaty hair out of his face. He feels boneless and taken care of, exhausted and sore but so much better than they’d started. The weight pressing him down is gone, but not the pleasure, and Sokka hums when Zuko leans over him, kissing his neck, scraping his teeth over the sensitive skin under his ear. 

“You’re—fuck,” Zuko gasps, face tipped down against Sokka’s shoulder, panting against Sokka’s oil-slick skin, and Sokka laughs at little at the eloquence. “You’re beautiful,” he tries again. His cheek is shiny when he leans up again to press a light kiss to Sokka’s jaw. Sokka’s way to wrung out to do anything other than hum happily. 

Somehow, Sokka finds the energy to roll over onto his back. Zuko brushes a hand over his cheek. The skin on the back of Sokka’s hand is faintly pink from the heat, all flushed. Zuko presses a light kiss to his knuckles, looking a little embarrassed at having left a mark at all, and Sokka’s heart flutters.

“Was that okay?” Zuko asks, genuinely asks, as though it’s not _obvious_ that the answer is yes. It makes Sokka laugh, which makes Zuko smile. 

“You’re unbelievable,” Sokka says fondly. He’s… so fucking tired, not just from the sex, but from the whole damn day. Sokka rolls his shoulder, and it still twinges a little, but it feels a lot less like a punishment, and that makes it easier to ignore. He reaches up and drags Zuko down for another kiss, anyway. 

“Okay,” Zuko says. He brushes his thumb against Sokka’s cheekbone, and Sokka’s eyes flutter closed. Spirits, he lo— _really likes_ Zuko, his chest feels tight with it, too much to hold. “I’ll be right back.” 

“Mhm,” Sokka says, a little too busy with his feelings to realize that means he needs to let Zuko go. Zuko huffs and extracts himself from Sokka’s grip, and then slides off the edge of the bed. 

He’s exhausted. He should probably do laundry now, or at least change the sheets, and shower, and...

Zuko drops down on the mattress again, and any fantasy of getting out of bed goes out the window. Zuko’s shoulders hit the pillows at the head of the bed. He bounces a little, and Sokka rolls over on top of him. 

Sokka kisses him, slow and sweet. Zuko hums against his lips, but he’s in no more of a rush now than he was earlier. Sokka slides a little closer, to brace his arms on either side of Zuko’s head. He presses more soft kisses to his jaw, his temple—he couldn’t really reach Zuko, earlier, and isn’t that a shame? He’ll just have to make up for it now with soft touches and sighs.

Sokka settles, finally, with his head pillowed on Zuko’s shoulder, his free arm snaking down the space between Zuko’s elbow and his waist. He’s still sweaty. It’s warm. He doesn’t really care. Sokka slides his other arm beneath the pillow, fingers brushing against the short hairs on the back of Zuko’s neck.

“Feel better?” Zuko asks. His hand skims over Sokka’s shoulder blade. The soreness is still there, but he feels much less tense now, the sharp pains giving way to duller aches that will fade with rest and time.

He does feel better. He also feels a little stupid for being—the way he is, and a little embarrassed for making Zuko put up with it.

“I’m fine,” Sokka says. He practically whispers it, face tipped down into the crook of Zuko’s shoulder. Zuko hums. His arm is a little squashed beneath Sokka, but he reaches up awkwardly anyway, to pet Sokka’s side, the only part of him he can really reach like this.

“Hey,” Zuko says quietly. “You’re good at what you do. You know that, right?”

“Yeah,” Sokka says. The word feels a little clumsy in his mouth. “Yes. I know that.”

“Good,” Zuko says. He props his chin on top of Sokka’s head. “Because you’re too hard on yourself, sometimes. And Sokka? That’s saying something, coming from me.” 

Sokka huffs a laugh at that. Zuko tilts his head a little, so that his cheek is squashed against Sokka’s hair. His words rumble low through his chest, barely a murmur, just for the two of them. “You’re just as good as any bender in the league,” he says.

He _does_ know that. In theory, he knows that. It’s… nice to hear it, anyway.

“I—thank you,” he says thickly. 

“I mean it,” Zuko says. Sokka smiles into his shoulder.

“I know you do,” he says, and it feels like admitting something to himself, a little bit, too.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for the comments/kudos!


End file.
